the light catches the eye but shadows have (moretosay) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-02-23 06:19:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | briar maeve naga, complete, julius fírinne, player: alice, player: lyddia |
Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share [pt1]
Some part of Briar , deep down, was still adjusting to having a home base to come back to consistently at all. The more recent, and obvious change, however, was having someone who wanted to see her before she left. Not only that, would be worried if she didn’t return. Sure her employees would notice, but this was different.
It was… It was nice, actually. The fear of getting soft, getting addicted to that warm feeling, or the reassurance being around Julius provided — a thing which definitely wouldn’t go amiss tonight especially, now that she knew the details of the job — was present as well, but for now she had settled on something even riskier. Julius was worth it, having a rock like him to swim back to in the chaos and keep her rooted was valuable enough for her to choose it over the comfort of what she was used to. She had texted him that morning, just a brief, I’ll be coming over tonight, if you’re still free, just before she tucked her phone away and doubled down on checking all of her equipment one last time. It was only 10PM, so she was a little surprised he was home, almost doubting the tentative feeling that was the tugging of that string of his magic that wound through her’s. But she knew when she parked his car that he really was home, and found herself glad to leave her bags in the trunk when she approached his front door where she found — Oh. Found his wards peel back just as her’s did for him, hence the reason for the surprised, goofy smile on her face when she knocked for once, before trying the doorknob and finding it unlocked. Her shoulder length curls brushed against the doorjam when she stuck her head in along with one boot, “Thistle?” It felt weird, this went against her plan. Which consisted of knocking and showing she wasn’t assuming just because of their agreement, but that felt an awful lot like a standing invitation. The text that morning was a surprise in that if she was coming over for the reason he suspected, the job had come up much more quickly than he’d anticipated. But it also garnered an eyeroll at if you’re still free, because what? Was he not going to be free or something? Because he could literally be free whenever he wanted. Particularly if he had a reason. And maybe that was also a surprise: that he had a reason to be free for an evening, but what was more that he actually was purposely making the time to be at home. He was almost never at home if he wasn’t sleeping. And yet here he was, 10 pm on a night when he’d either be working or just sitting at work, opening a bottle of wine in his own kitchen instead of behind the bar. Now there was something he did only about once a month and usually only for his own enjoyment. He could feel the wards peel back when she stepped through them, having modified them himself after… Well, it seemed like a good a time as any after that night at her place. Not that she couldn’t have undone them herself, probably, but the point was that she’d decided not to, and that alone was enough of a reason to make things easy. She’d made a point to respect his space, that was enough of a reason to trust her. “Sorry, my security isn’t nearly as souped up as yours, you can just come in.” Briar rolled her eyes, stepping in all the way and locking the door behind her, more to be cheeky than for the actual security of it. Considering where they were and all that. She took in his place, looking for any changes and finding few. The last time she had been here was their fight, high emotions and irrational outbursts as they both grappled with unexpected revelations. Mostly him, as she needed a bit more time to digest the one he had given her. The smell of flowers was less prominent now at least, now that he was calm and Errol wasn’t here to dredge skeletons up that needed to be buried. It was a much more pleasant visit already, overall, and she was only a few steps in, shucking her jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair she had sat in to eat eggs a few months ago. “I’ll remember that for next time.” Ah, wine, of course, she wasn’t as fond of it as he was but she was beginning to think that was because she hadn’t been exposed to the right ones. It was growing on her. Without asking permission she sat herself on the counter beside him, a hand reaching up to skim through his hair, fingertips gentle and exploratory on his scalp, “It’s not paranoia if everyone really is out to get you.” Which was, you know, partially a joke. Said to him just before she reached up above his head to swing the cabinet open where she knew his wine glasses were to pluck out two. Particularly considering how incredibly mundane the actual locks on the doors were. Still, that was kind of the point. Tripped up anyone who had no idea how a lock worked, at least. Anyone who didn’t simply blast through doors anyway. But really, if someone like that was coming through the door, he was in trouble anyway. It wasn’t until she’d gotten all the way into the kitchen that he finally looked up and put it together that it wasn’t Maeve in his house--which was who he’d been expecting--but Briar, who maybe he actually should have been expecting. She’d made it abundantly clear that Maeve’s purpose was mostly to be an affable bar owner. Briar was the one who did jobs for Xi if he remembered that conversation correctly. It was a nice surprise though. One that pulled a warm smile from him as he peeled the foil away from the top of the wine bottle. Next time. He always assumed--at least he had since she started just popping up whenever--that there’d be a next time, but still it was nice to hear it. “Shouldn’t make so many enemies,” he teased, leaning into the fingers on his scalp as he yanked the cork free of the wine bottle. “Maybe you need to be more charming.” In a flourishing move that was definitely unnecessary but fun all the same, both the wine glasses were twirled by the stems between dexterous fingers, her left hand going clockwise and the right counter, the impulse to fiddle with something in her hands not shoved down when she was herself. That, and burying her personality was becoming less and less of a habit around him. Instead it was gradually being overtaken with her relaxed self that didn’t overthink quite as much. Baby steps. The glasses were slid in front of him when he finally managed the cork, “Should I not? Where is the fun in that?” As soon as her hands were free one hand danced across his shoulder and the back of his neck, tracing idle designs and getting a feel for how tense he was. Julius had given her permission for such a thing last time, after all. Though he had never actually given permission for the hair thing, but she was too attached and he wasn’t exactly objecting, was he? “I have you around, so why bother?” Her New Yorker accent plucked out neatly from the 1800’s, softened with time but still an echo of cobbled streets and a different batch of immigrants, curled around the double entendre along with her own teasing smile. Julius would be a little more concerned about the needlessly complicated twirling of the glasses if he actually cared about those glasses, but thankfully he wasn’t particularly attached to them. She still earned a disapproving click of his tongue as he waited for her to set them down so he could pour, but that was mostly for show. “I mean, if you find going out of your way to over secure your home, then be my guest. I’m not here to judge how you get your kicks,” he said, smirking as he poured two generously filled glasses. He passed one to her, still smirking as his eyes met hers. “That you do.” “And yet, judge you do.” Briar tossed back easily while she watched him pour, not that she was particularly bothered by that little habit of his, and it showed. It would be especially hypocritical of her, seeing as she had judged him on so little (in retrospect) for so long (such a long time, and through so many eyes), and besides, it amused her most of the time. The glass was plucked from his hand carefully, a hum of thanks on her lips as she smell it before taking a careful sip, still damp lips curling into a smirk at his response. It was a lovely wine, a good mix of dry and sweet, and she nodded at it before taking another,slightly more generous drink. But a moment later she set it down, a hand on his shoulder and an ankle hooking his calf pulling him gently to stand between her legs instead of beside them. There were a dozen innuendos she could have made with him like this, but instead she only ran one finger up the column of his neck to tilt his chin up towards her, “Hello, Thistle.” Tone changing, intimate and as soft as the smile that was also slowly becoming more second nature when it was just them. Her eyes took in the details of his face for a long moment before pressing her lips to his in a sweet, wine flavored kiss. He gave her a what can you do? shrug at that. “I’m working on it. That one’s pretty deeply ingrained.” Terrible, horrible, judgemental parents, plus… Just being very opinionated. It was a problem. Though, he really didn’t see the joy in burning a lot of bridges. Sounded limiting, if you asked him. He took a sip of wine after she did, gauging her expression. Maybe he should have opened something else? She’d had wine when he came over, but it wasn’t necessarily her favorite and he knew that, but then she took another sip and he relaxed, letting her guide him over. “Hello, Briar,” he murmured back, setting his glass down next to hers to rest his hands on her hips, a warmth similar to the one he’d felt the other night building in his chest as she examined his face, thankful for the reprieve when her lips met his, the kiss returned with equal sweetness. Another sip and she shook her head, “I’m thick skinned, and besides, I don’t have many people who will be that sort of honest with me.” It was a thing she hadn’t realized she valued until she had also come to terms with the fact that she really did trust him, and also after she leaned he didn’t think of her the way she had always thought. Her fault, that, for being judgemental herself. Or maybe for living the life she had lead that made her so distrustful of things that made her happy. And he did, the sort of comforting joy that came with no fear of a trap or a timer, free to run her fingers leisurely through his hair, purposefully messing it up from it’s too-orderly state as she did so. Sweet and exploratory, without the shyness or fear of scaring him away that she had before they went to bed at her home, instead the ease and comfort of relearning something familiar yet new. That same glowing, goosebump inducing feeling that she had felt before, something so real she couldn't deny it yet still couldn't understand. One hand dropped to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, fingers exploring the skin there as her other dropped back down to the bottle, tapping it quietly with a nail. The kiss was broken while the sound rang out, the warmth of his hands and just him kept her from leaning back, instead nuzzling at his nose with a relaxed smile on her face, “You have good taste, but you already know that.” Teasing voice tinted with fondness instead of any real heat. “Ah, but didn’t anyone ever tell you to be careful what you wish for?” Because he could do honesty. It got him into trouble more often than not. This of course was said completely tongue in cheek, however, a mischievous look with a matching grin that curled over the rim of his glass before taking a pointedly deep drink. The feeling of her fingers in his hair never seemed to lose its novelty, still as enjoyable as when Sebastian had messed his hair up back when his hair was a bit harder to mess up through all the pomade. He wasn’t sure how she’d figured out something he liked so easily and with so little provocation, but no one else had ever quite gotten it right. When she broke the kiss, his chin tipped up to press another quick, light kiss to the tip of her nose, laughing lightly at the compliment. “I’m not sure if you mean yourself or the wine.” Because either answer was acceptable in his opinion, and it wouldn’t be far off to assume she’d do such a thing. The wine was growing on her, or maybe it was because she associated the drink she took with him, the grin on his face and the spark on his eyes. There was a science to that, but it didn’t mean she enjoyed it any less. “I don’t know, it seems to be working out for me so far.” And wasn’t that loaded, voice deceptively casual, tone light even as her expression was all sincere sweetness. An art to saying something serious while letting the other person avoid it if they wanted to. Oh, Julius. Had he always been this response, or was it just something she was aware of now? Warm beneath her hands, and so wonderfully alive, even with this safe, brief intimacy between them. Her cheeks heated at the silly kiss to her nose and his laugh, a silly grin on her face. What she had said to him before she left was still true — everything she felt around Julius was so much, sharp and weighty, unmuffled by the masks she wore or the distance between them. But here lately that had been a positive thing, at least until it was lost, and then it would hurt worse for it. However, it was seeming more worth the risk everytime she saw him. This time it was her that laughed, one hand tracing his collarbone and the other grazing the shell of his ear, “Oh no darling, I definitely only mean the wine. Your taste and standards have clearly dropped, inviting me in like this.” A fox’s grin transformed her features, the self-depreciating...warning? Delivered more like an offer, ankles tugging him closer to her. “Is it? I’m glad to hear it.” That’d be about the first time anyone appreciated him for his honesty, so he wouldn’t argue. He laughed again, drawing his arms around her as she tugged him closer. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult to me or you, but either way I disagree. Anyway, I think I get to decide what my standards are,” he added, lips brushing lightly against her jaw line as he spoke. “At least you don’t smell like wet dog anymore. That’s about where my standards are.” And even then… Well. It depended. “Thus far.” Briar teased after she took another sip, finger circling the rim of her glass, wondering, briefly if she would change anything about him if she could. There was nothing though, if anything she would want him more honest, but then that would make her a bit of a hypocrite wouldn’t it? The glass was set back down, a safe distance away so she could drop her arms down to rest on his hips, fingers sneaking under his shirt to spread her palms against his bare skin. Warm against her cold fingertips, “I suppose you do get to decide that.” Because Briar certainly wasn’t going to argue with him about her being a bad decision, what was that phrase about gift horses? Another trail of goosebumps followed his lips, and she dropped her head down to his shoulder to hide the warmth in her cheeks and the smile on her face, though it was taken over by a laugh as she kissed the skin there, “How long has it been that you’ve been holding onto that? You didn’t seem to mind when you were on the back of my bike.” Cold hands on warm skin pulled a shiver from him, goosebumps rising under her finger tips. “Do you not have gloves?” He asked, teasing in a mock perturbed tone, betrayed by the grin on his face. “I should hope so.” Because if he didn’t get to decide what his standards were, he’d hate to meet the person who did. There was another reason for leaving home when he did. Being able to decide what he liked and didn’t like without having his preferences informed (or instructed, more like) by someone else’s opinion. “I think you know how long.” Though honestly, the memory had softened the sharpness of the dog smell, thankfully. And it had bothered him less when they’d been out in the fresh air. But still, he’d definitely had to air out the jacket for years before it smelled less like Wolves and more like cloves and violets, which was too bad if only because it meant it lost whatever notes had been Sebastian. He assumed the faintly citrus scent that clung to Briar now would have become apparent through the Wolf smell eventually, but then if he’d figured that out then, he might not have ever been so confused about Tulip. He wasn’t sure if that would have been better or worse. In any case, there was no dog smell now. She was all Summerlands fruit and warmth. “I suppose I could get used to anything if I put my mind to it. But I still prefer not-dogs.” “Nope.” Her lips brushed against his skin when she popped the ‘p’ like a bratty teenager, “I have you. Better.” The short nails on her hands grew out a bit more, just enough to glide against his skin, reaching back to trace up the ridges of his spin. Gentle, curious. Really, in retrospect, the dog smell bothering him wasn’t that surprising. Sebastian associated it with very different things than Julius did, comfort, community, safety and the sort of fun that pushed his limits and made him forget things. Apparently it hadn’t bothered him enough to turn down a kiss though, or take that jacket, keeping it a rather long time, considering. That near giddy feeling blossomed in her chest at the reminder again, him in her clothes, him remembering her. Or some part of her, at least. “I think, not dogs, I can probably manage. I don’t visit Evie’s line too often.” The silence that descended was a comfortable one, finger’s still leisurely tracing unintelligible symbols on his skin as she soaked in the warmth and scent of him, a kiss to his his neck as his lips lingered, nose nuzzling at his pulse point affectionately. Finally she sighed again, just resting her head on his shoulder, “I’m glad you let me come over tonight.” Serenely, calm, even as something heavier echoed in it. A pleased hum escaped him as his lips continued their feather light trail along her skin. “I’ll allow it, I suppose.” The words on their own could have seemed resigned if not for the amusement in his voice. What had been comforting and safe for Sebastian had an entirely different connotation for Julius entirely. And not because of the smell, but because of the attitude of that pack in general. It reminded him a little too much of being small and helpless. Of danger, and not the fun kind. It was a very different reaction to the same thing, and one that was hard to shake off. Still, he was working on it. “I’d probably still kiss you,” he admitted. It wouldn’t be fair not to, considering. “And then I’d probably make you take a bath, not going to lie.” He was mostly joking. In the quiet moment that ensued, his arms around her loosened, hands taking a leisurely exploration up her spine to her shoulders and down again. “Why wouldn’t I?” Another quiet laugh from where her head rested on his shoulder, warm air puffing out against his neck, “You’re a ridiculous man, Thistle.” Lips dragging across his skin as they shaped his name. The amount of dislike he had for the smell, such a contrast with how boldly he had shoved his way into the forefront of attention in the bar that day, had her thinking harder about that day. For Sebastian it had been overshadowed, saturated, with the worry for Evie, the rage that pulsed through him when Julius was attacked, and how close he had come to seeing his own intestines. It made her eyebrows drawn down as she leaned back, hands pausing in their caress for a moment, “You know he — I would have protected you then, right? Just like now.” Eyes seeking out his to make sure he understood. Sebastian may have those scars, but there were no regrets associated with them. Julius wasn’t helpless, but that wouldn’t stop her from stepping in front of him if there was a threat. Worse now that they were — well, whatever they were. She shrugged, mouth opening to respond before snapping shut as she tried to find her words. Finally she ducked her head, curls falling in front of her face as her hands twitched against her skin, “No reason. It’s just nice to be with you — to be seen off, before a job.” Moreso now that she knew what it was, and knowing that he was going to find out at least some of the grisly details was a part she was not particularly pleased about. He may be a con man too, and as grey as any Fae, but this was not going to be his sort of game. And some part of her mind wondered if his wards would be locked to her when she returned. “And what does that make you?” Who was more ridiculous, really? Him, or her for continuously coming around to revel in his ridiculousness? The corners of his mouth turned down at that, brow furrowed slightly as he caught her gaze. “You did,” he pointed out, not sure why she was reminding him. And he probably could have handled himself (maybe a little better if Sebastian himself had not been so distracting, which was really the whole problem), but he wasn’t about to argue that then. Certainly back then he could have handled himself slightly better than now. It wasn’t like the mob didn’t get into it fairly frequently, particularly when they crossed paths with rival gangs. Until the guns came out, and then he was gone--behind a bar, under a table or out a door. But he wasn’t rusty back then. There was a sort of involuntary tingle that went through him, making his lips twitch into another grin at her explanation. “Oh,” he said quietly, “It’s nice that you want me to see you off before a job.” Instead of that whole thing where she stormed off to another country for two weeks. This was much better. “Masochistic.” She answered, without hesitation, “Or just someone with very specific tastes.” Very specific, long standing tastes. Granted though, how she felt about him even back as Sebastian was starkly different to how she felt about him now. Briar kissed his brow, keeping her lips pressed to his skin, “I just want you to remember I have your back.” Neither of them were used to that, and it would take more than a few pretty words and one action for either of them to prove it. But that didn’t stop her from reminding him. Both of them were accustomed to being dropped when they became difficult, inconvenient, or not profitable. No one sacrificed for them, until they shoved people away to where no one would even want to. So she didn’t expect him to believe her, at least not this time. A few months ago she might have rolled her eyes or just shifted about awkwardly. Told him not to get used to it. This time she relaxed, gratitude and something else shining in her eyes that she wouldn’t name if pressed not because of Pride but because she was still coming to terms with it herself. So instead of trying, or articulating how much it meant that he wanted to see her beforehand like a normal person, she channeled that bit of happiness into leaving one hand on his hip while the other threaded into his hair and pulling him into a kiss that left that bit of easy sweetness behind for eager passion, expressing things with all the sincerity here she couldn’t with words. That he believed, particularly the masochistic part, especially when she brought up having his back. Because anyone who did was definitely a masochist. Not that he got into a lot of trouble now that he was settled into things in Summerview, but even so it was not an easy job, and not one anyone volunteered for frequently. Nor should anyone, not in their right mind, because she was right. Neither of them were particularly good at letting anyone get close enough to keep an eye on them. Both of them were far too… Prickly. Still, he nodded. “I’ll try.” Another thing he was working on, apparently. But if anyone was going to have his back and make him believe it, it was probably her. She’d done it before, it stood to reason she would again. The kiss was not at all what he’d been expecting in response to that comment, but no less welcome in spite of it. The heat of the kiss was returned in equal measure, even if he wasn’t sure what it was for, both hands coming up to her face, thumbs brushing over her cheek bones as they slid back to lace into her hair. I’ll try. Was more than what she might have given during the circumstances, so she considered it progress. They had time. Now that their eyes were turned towards eachother instead of someone else, now that neither of them were running from anything (metaphorically or literally, as far as she knew) and everything was out on the table...They had time. “No rush. I think we’ve learned we have our own unique pace.” And she snorted at that, rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of it, because it was true but no one would believe it if they told him. At least they understood each other’s pace, whatever that happened to be at the time, and that included him meeting her in this and giving back as good as she did. Her hands against him twitched subconsciously, letting the world fall and away and trusting him enough to get swept up in the smell, taste, feel of him until she broke the kiss to breathe, gathering her composure by taking another drink of wine — though the hand pressed to his bare back stayed, anchoring them there. When she had complimented him last time she had purposefully left toe-curling out of it, but she was damn glad she was still wearing her boots and he couldn’t see that it was, in fact, true. The glass was nearly gone, but that wasn’t the source of the buzz beneath her skin, and even she could admit that. To herself. “My plane leaves at 5AM, unless I get badly hurt, or caught, I should be back in a day and a half or so.” Because she was good, and this was a well researched job, but things could still get out of hand and she wouldn’t make assurances otherwise. Unique pace was one way to put it. Slower than molasses probably, to any casual outside observer. Or, probably to anyone with a magnifying glass, actually, considering only someone who knew them both extremely well could ever have known about the multiple human lifetimes their unique pace headed towards… Wherever (who knew, really, considering there wasn’t a label on it yet other than “not sharing”) it was going. But alright, yes. “Something like that,” he agreed. There was a comfort in knowing that whether she was Tulip or Sebastian or Maeve or Briar, she still kissed the same, even if one had tasted like tequila and smelled like Wolves, or vodka, lemon and seltzer and tobacco, or (as it so happened this time and the last) wine and just… Her. There was familiarity in it, but not in a way that was tired or played out. It was at the same time old and new. One part comfort food, two parts strange and unusual. But wasn’t that just the title of their joint biography? He let out a sigh when she pulled away again, taking her cue using the wine to take a breath. And then another for good measure. 5 AM. Early. “Are they going to bail you out if you get caught?” Important things were important, though, selfishly he mostly just wanted to know if she’d be staying a while or going home after she finished her wine. Comfort food. If only she could hear his thoughts, because that would be a completely new label for her. But he was that to her, in a way, the scent of him and closeness not making her feel trapped or overwhelmed, instead it drained the tension from her and the worries about the job. The job, and the way his perception of her might change. That was a fear she would not voice, however. If there was anyone, oddly enough, who believed in self-fulfilling prophecies, it was Briar. The bail question had her snorting, eyes sliding towards him slow and amused, warm like honey and the skin underneath her fingertips, drawn from her nearly empty glass back to him like a magnet. “I think if I get caught, prison will be the least of my concerns. These men I’m going after,” She paused, choosing her words carefully, “They collect parts of non-humans.” The implications of that, so jarring in the warmth between them and intimacy of the bubble they created, hung there for a moment before she cleared her throat, “But you’ve seen me when I’m trapped. I always find a way, even if I have to shed a little blood.” Mieke, who would rather give her blood to a cursed necklace than be trapped with it, or worse, have Julius sell it to the open market. Indeed it was jarring. Julius pulled a face. “That’s some serious Burke and Hare shit.” It had to be pretty awful to pull a curse out of him like that. Parts? Parts? Oberon’s fucking balls. “Why? Is this like that thing where they used to crush up mummies for medicine?” Because yes that did happen. In his own lifetime. He had seen her trapped before, but somehow that wasn’t as much of a consolation as she might have thought. “So, what you’re saying is, if I don’t hear from you in 48 hours or so, I should probably call in a few favors?” He did still have Prince’s number. The man had ways. And means. And owed him one here or there. The reference wasn’t far off honestly, those murders and this one. Though this bore a strong resemblance to a terrible part of history or two she herself had seen first hand. This was a job she had done even without his stake in it, though not quite the way Xi wanted. “Kind of. What’s one mermaid for a way to slow down Dementia and make billions?” But her face twitched to show it was a line that she wouldn’t cross, her hand dropping from him down to the counter so she wouldn’t accidentally dig her nails into his skin. The last of the wine was tossed back as she processed his offer, it had merit and it was nice he was willing to pull strings for her. More than that, it almost sounded like he was worried, and that was a new incentive she had never had before. “That would mean her finding out I told you, I don’t want her and Laine’s ire turning against you, or Xi to punish Laine for it to get at you, since I won’t be around to take the hit.” What good was a Thief who talked about jobs? While the crux of this was going to become known in short order, there was a layer of it that was going to be kept in house — and if she thought Julius knew about it? Who knows what she would do. The last thing she wanted was for him to say anything and get hurt for it, or worse, him come after her if she really did go radio silent. It was a possibility that she refused to consider. That seemed like a dangerous precedent, though he knew she was being facetious. And while he hadn’t seen the things she had first hand, he had a fairly good idea what was going through her mind. He did, after all, still live through the same times as her, and didn’t live under a rock, at least for most of it (just most of the 1970s, which, in retrospect was a good time to be under a rock a little bit). “History loves to repeat, doesn’t it?” If it wasn’t one group being picked apart for “science”, under the heading of “the greater good”, it was another. Frankly he was surprised it had taken so long for it to be their turn. It was a fairly good argument but. “If my sister is anything like my father, she still has respect for familial bonds, however tenuous they may be.” It would give him an excuse to finally reach out to her, now wouldn’t it? Xi he wasn’t afraid of either even if maybe he should have been but. “Worst case scenario Xi gets a matching set of Fírinne siblings. But,” he paused, a somewhat resigned smile on his face, “You could also just come back and then this won’t be a problem.” He didn’t really want to partake in either side of this nonsense fiasco that was brewing, but he knew people like Xi. They were more susceptible to flattery and helpfulness than they let on. It was a chink in their armor they usually weren’t aware of. Al Capone had it. It wasn’t a stretch to believe a woman who walked into a liquor store on a tiny island sanctuary for the discarded and magical looking like she stepped off a runway wouldn’t be a little easier to manipulate than she thought. It was an angle he’d had in the back of his mind ever since he found out about his sister’s connection with her, but hadn’t shared. An ace up his sleeve if you will. If it wasn’t her mother’s people being put in cages, it was another group that were considered less than, and if humans would do that to other humans, what would they do to an already vulnerable community like theirs? Harvest whole nests at once, turn them into weapons against their own kind? Keep them alive to chop off bits? No. It was only years of having to bank anger behind a cool mask that kept her calm when she had looked over those files, that composure and detachment that allowed her to build up such a fine reputation showing now. That, and knowing, rationally, these people were an extreme example. Not the norm. Still got under her skin a little though, “It’s all a circle. If anything, the fact that we kept finding each other affirms that.” It was an attempt at levity, the a quiet laugh on the exhale as she tapped at his calf with her ankle so she had enough room to drop down from the counter. Briar started to walk into the living room, a hand running through her messy curls as she sighed before pivoting cleanly back to the counter to pour her some more wine. Muttering something in his general direction about turning her into a lush as she sipped at it, leaning against the doorway that divided the kitchen and the living room to pull her boots off. One was shucked, stacked neatly against the wall when her eyes narrowed at him, “If I don’t come back she’s not getting a matching set, just don’t do anything. If you join it’s going to be harder for you to get Laine to leave,” The other boot was pulled off even though she was glaring at him, “Xi has believers on her side who aren’t doing this for money or fame. What if one of them gets wind of you manipulating their boss?” Her face twitched as she took gulp of wine, somehow managing to do so with her scowl in place, “Of course I’m going to try, but any job can go sideways.” If this was a normal job maybe she would have humored the thought of having him call in some bizarre calvary he had in the wings while she was dissected, but not with the situation as it stood. Xi might play the long game with him if she thought he was trying to play her, just for the fun of it, for the amusement factor, but Danny and others like him? No, definitely not. That might have worked if he wasn’t so damn serious all of a sudden. He was chewing his lip pensively as he stepped back to let her down. He topped off his glass before finishing it, hand coming up to ruffle his own hair. If she didn’t come back then what was the point? Also, what? That was quite possibly the first time that thought had ever crossed his mind about another person, though to be fair, she might be the only one who put themselves into this much danger. Besides good old Alphonse, and well. He’d never held a candle for Alphonse. If Al Capone didn’t come back, then Julius would have just gotten a new job. If she didn’t come back, he’d either leave Summerview and drag his sister along with him by any means necessary or. Well. At that point, was there literally anything else to do but fuck up Xi’s plans? Damn the consequences? Because it was either stay and be reminded that she’d taken something--or someone, specifically the only constant in his entire two hundred and twenty two years-- from him, or leave and be blasted by whatever consequences his father’s deal had in store. Sounded like a fun game of Russian roulette. Or. Well. “There’s always Errol.” Because if he actually knew what Chrysanthemum was up to, he’d put a stop to that real fast. Anyway. “Listen, you’re the one with all the back up plans and the remember I have your back, Thistle. I’m allowed to have yours, too.” Right? That seemed reasonable? Goddamnit. She shouldn’t have told him anything, why had she done that? Because he was involved and he was part of the reason she was doing it in the first place, because she trusted him and she was trying to open up more if only out of spite because he acted like she couldn’t. But she hadn’t expected him to talk like this, Julius didn’t seem like the type to stick his neck out for anyone, at least when it went beyond sweet talking someone down from being angry. Not anything where it could get physical, especially when it could suck him so easily into a war. What was the point in her possibly getting hurt (or worse) to help him, just for him to get caught up in it anway? It made no sense. Him putting himself at risk, her own risk not being worth anything. The image of him getting dissected, or roasted — what kind of Dragon was Danny anyway? — made her stomach curl, a swirl of emotions that she didn’t like at all, a mix of concern and anger wrapped in confusion. Briar was tempted to go to Laine and see if she can talk some sense into him, distract him, something. No. That was unreasonable. Briar took a deep breath, it was a moot point, odds were she was going to be fine. But what if this happened again? His statement had her eyes snapping open from where she had closed them in frustration, “I do. Dozens. But failure is always a possibility. But this is all a moot point, given my history I’m most likely going to be fine.” Flighty and daring she could be, but she was realistic as well, knew her limits, perfection wasn’t one of them. Her eyes swiveled towards him, one eyebrow raised as she leaned against the back of his couch, “For the record, you never said that was mutual, and I wasn’t going to ask it of you. It’s fine, putting yourself at physical risk for a friend, especially getting pulled into a war, isn’t your style is it?” Level, calmer than even she had expected with how her stomach was churning and her fingers were twitching. Because she was being sincere, she hadn’t expected him to echo her sentiment, and that stung a bit, sure, but that was — it was fine. Maybe if she didn’t want him to be so worried, she should have been a little less forthcoming with the nature of this job. In any case, he had not anticipated this night being one filled with arguments, though he wasn’t exactly sure why she was being so contrary about it. Except that she clearly underestimated him. Again. Not that he’d ever given her reason not to. And for some reason it felt like… Did she doubt his sincerity or something? “I never said it wasn’t,” he pointed out, leaning against the wall opposite the couch, taking a calculated sip of wine. “But I’m pretty sure it was implied when we decided we were friends.” Just because opportunities to stick his neck out had been few and far between didn’t mean he wouldn’t, nor did it make it not his style. Not his style would be doing something half-assed or messy or without thought. If he got pulled into a war, it wouldn’t be without reason, without a plan. Especially when currently he was working so hard to stay out of it. But logic dictated it was entirely possible to get drawn into one side or another, the safer choice would be to get pulled into the side his sister was on, if he had to choose. Not that he was choosing. “I’m worried, Briar, alright? Just let me spin my wheels a little.” Why was she the only one who got to be worried? Who got to have contingency plans? Who got to be protective all the time? It was extremely unbalanced. One of her arms wound its way around her side, the other holding her wine glass in front of her, eyes lingering on it consideringly while she listened to him. This was not how she wanted to spend her last night in town before doing something risky, not when they had a good streak going. Well. A streak of two, but still. That wasn’t bad for them. The warm feeling at the fact that he seemed to be genuinely worried, about her was stifled because of her worry for him. It was also easier to focus on that than the oddness of someone willing to risk themselves on her behalf. Another sip of wine before she leaned back, gently setting it on the end table by the arm of the couch before her focus turned back to him, “I think there are certain things that should not be merely implied.” Her hand reached up to the back of her neck, wincing as she rolled her head from one side to the other, “I don’t count on implications, nor would I hold anyone to an assumption.” That was reasonable, and she was standing by it. Even the no sharing was said directly. The surprise at his statement was visible on her face, eyes widening, head tilted to the side as she stilled like a statue. Or maybe, like someone who sometimes froze when caught off guard, like an easily overlooked statue, “Okay.” It wasn’t what he wanted either, and it wasn’t going to get any better if he was still across the room, so with a sigh, he pushed himself away from the wall with his shoulders and took a seat on the opposite corner of the couch, nursing his wine intently as she spoke. Once again, she wasn’t wrong. And it was fairly foolish of him to use assumptions and implications as an excuse, particularly when words were so incredibly important. “Fine, you’re right. All cards on the table, I’ve got your back, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.” Because she was going to hate it, and he knew that. But too bad. What even was that expression? He frowned slightly, attempting and failing to discern what had earned that weird look. “Okay?” Oh. Well. This was going a lot differently than their previous arguments, on her end too. The fact that she had taken her shoes off just as it had picked up, signifying that she was not planning on storming out this time. It was a bit different when she had less secrets to hide behind as well, wasn’t it? A little less hesitant to throw throw herself into a fight claws out and spitting when she was so vulnerable. This was a new dance for both of them. Her eyes followed him when he sat down and she followed, stepping around the couch to sit down at the end, angled towards him in an accidental echo of Sebastian talking to him after Errol left. Julius outright saying it so plainly made it hard for her to question it, blinking at him as this information filtered through her brain. Deciding that he was willing to take risks for her and throwing it out there so she could hold him to it, keep him honest if you will, was a bold thing. It required a great deal of trust, “I don’t.” Briar paused, cutting herself off and taking another deep breath, “I would rather you not put yourself at risk. This is one of those times the stubbornness I find so attractive in you is going to be turned against me isn’t?” The fondness leaking into her voice beside a resigned, tired smile. One more sip of wine and Briar leaned sideways with a sigh, resting her head on his thigh and trying to sigh the tension back out of her that had rushed in when their conversation took a turn. Before that she had been so relaxed and at ease, “Okay. I worry about you. I am unable to turn that off, it would be hypocritical and a waste of time to tell you that you can’t worry about me,” The words were said in the general direction of his knee, quiet but steady, “I suppose. I didn’t expect it, and I’m not used to it. Especially from people who know this.” Accompanied by a vague gesture at her face before she rested her hands on the couch. It was new and different to not have an argument that ended with her storming off or him lighting up thirty cigarettes in the process. Clearly it was still a work in progress, but baby steps taken over the passage of several months had gotten them to this point at least. It wasn’t anything to sniff at. And when she threw around words like attractive and used that fond tone, he finally felt himself relax a little again, even letting his lips twitch lopsidedly into a smirk. “Probably. Most likely.” Almost definitely. He shrugged as if to say what are you going to do about it? and took another sip of wine. “Well that I knew,” he said, holding back the urge to roll his eyes because even if he knew she worried--she’d made it very clear many times over--it was still sort of… Warm and fuzzy to know someone was looking out for Julius besides Julius. It didn’t happen often. He set his own wine glass down on the coffee table and reached down to tuck a curl behind her ear. “It’s not like you can stop me from worrying, so it’s probably best not to be hypocritical,” he replied with a sage nod, frowning a bit when she referred to her face as this. “That face happens to be my favorite face.” Particularly because it was the first face. But also because it was a good face. Ah, there was that smirk again. Speaking of attractive. It eased some of the tension from her shoulders, felt like this was going to end without as much wounded pride and snarls as it could have. Maybe they were both maturing, he wasn’t even smoking after all. Or, if not maturing, at least learning to be less defensive around one another. It earned him a quiet laugh, and a sense of comfort like they were back on steady ground, the the bubble of happiness that had been in her chest just waiting for her to stop holding it too tightly to breathe finally expanded. The roll of her eyes contradicting the silly grin that she was only marginally able to subdue, “I suppose there are worst qualities of yours I’ve adapted to.” Involuntarily, she felt her eyes close at the touch to her hair. He may know, that too-sharp memory of his and the way she hadn’t been afraid to say it — and act on it, twice — but knowing him, and his history as she did, she thought it was wise to remind him that she was consistent. That he was a priority, when even his kin hadn’t made him one. That was something they shared, being unwanted. Not properly valued. Rationally, she should be more worried about him doing something risky for her, or jumping back at this bit of barrier falling away. But instead let the happiness from it soak into her, “I’m not an easy person to care about, if you hadn’t noticed.” A quiet warning that she hoped ( and knew) he wouldn’t listen to. On her hip where one of her hands rested, her fingers twitched, still filled with tension that was slow to fully drain. The compliment left her silent for a few long moments, caught off guard again. Too many such instances in one night. Especially since she hadn’t meant just here appearance, but the real her, biting, prickly and cheek rolled into one rough handed package. But him being so unhesitatingly direct about saying something nice ... Julius couldn’t lie, not that directly anyway, the compliment had a way of sneaking past her defenses before she could stop it. After all the same he had seen her in, so carefully crafted, every bit, and he picked the one she was still conflicted about even today? It gave he a sort of warmth that she was almost uncomfortable with, so she tried to redirect or brush it off, “Yes, well. The novelty will wear off eventually.” He’d take maturing. Although at least 50% of why he wasn’t smoking was because he refused to do it in the house. Still, if he’d really been feeling twitchy, he could have gone outside so he’d consider that progress. Some type of win. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I only have good qualities.” It depended on who you asked though. So it wasn’t a lie. More of a joke really, which sort of excused the fact that it wasn’t 100% true. Julius sat back, getting more comfortable, head resting against the back of the couch as he continued to run his hand through her hair. He most definitely would not be listening to that warning just the same as if she wouldn’t if he made a similar statement. She was preaching to the choir. There was nothing inherently easy about him either. His name was Thistle for a reason. He was prickly. But at least on a surface level--which was where he liked to keep people for the most part, on the surface of things--he was delightful and charming. “I keep telling you, be more charming,” he teased, “It works wonders.” It was probably for the best she didn’t ask him how he preferred Briar over any of the others which were all crafted meticulously, and all quite lovely in their own way. Asking such a thing of someone with as long a memory as his, with as fond memories of their first meeting were, who’s last name literally meant “truth”, would likely have earned her a very long answer about how he absolutely accepted each and every one of her other faces as a part of her as a whole person, but… They were only parts of the whole, and all of them were perhaps a little too perfect, a little too suited to a purpose. This was the one that caught his eye all those many decades ago, and this was the one he considered the be all end all. The core of who she was. But that would have been a lot to articulate and he probably wouldn’t have been able to do it justice under the circumstances, so it was just as well. Instead he gave her pithy remark the sort of attention it deserved: a dramatic groan of dismay. “Ah no, does that mean the novelty of my face is going to wear off eventually too?” “Only good qualities my ass.” The retort came with her flicking his knee, a step down from her first instinct which was to bite him, but she was partially worried she’d end up with a knee to the face for her trouble. If Julius had only good qualities he would be boring, and a lot more put off by her bad ones. Or maybe he’d try and fix her, and that would be worse than being repulsed, honestly. This would only be made better if she had a blanket. Being able to take comfort from another person who she trusted was something she hadn’t realized she missed until she had it, and though she hadn’t expected him to actually take her warning to heart, it was nice to hear it. It was awkward to say that kind of thing though, so instead she just nuzzled at his leg and snuggled a little closer with a happy hum, “I could be, yet, here you are, so why bother?” Why bother changing if what she was doing was clearly working anyway, “Although, it is fun to be fashionable, charming, and elegant. Sometimes. Yukio and Tulip aren’t good for a pub crawl though.” She laughed at the image, quiet but genuinely amused by the image. Because she was contrary, perhaps, since that was always a good explanation for anything she did and frankly, Briar was eager to focus on something other than him saying this version of her was his favorite, she rolled to her other side so she was facing him. Sharp eyes sought out his before tracing his face again, one hand reaching up to outline his cheek bones, a feather like touch over his eyebrows and along the lines of scruff on his face before finally gently resting against the corner of his mouth, “No, it won’t.” Simple, without flourish or floweriness, if one could forgive the pun. The moment of simple sincerity was broken by her eyes dropping again and her throat clearing, “How was the rest of your holiday? Was your thorny heart popular?” “The best qualities,” he insisted with mock indignation, flicking her back in the shoulder. This was better. Not that there wasn’t something to be said for arguing and doing it well. That is, arguing and not losing their heads--probably good practice for their eventual law careers--so long as it meant they came back to this. Whatever it was. This thing that they were doing now. She kept saying that, and yet… “Weren’t you the one who said I’d make terrible arm candy? I’m pretty sure that’s practically the definition. Using my obvious charm to make you look better.” Not that she needed help looking better. “Or, you know, temper your ability to make more enemies than any one person should have.” Strangely enough, while the image of Yukio and/or Tulip on a pub crawl was an amusing image, he almost wanted to make it happen. But actually, when she brought up fashionable, charming, and elegant something else came to mind. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, looking for a poster he’d noticed last time he was in Atlantic City. “Speaking of you being fashionable, charming and elegant on occasion,” he paused, holding up the phone with the picture of the poster announcing Postmodern Jukebox in Atlantic City that upcoming weekend. “Assuming you’re back on time, want to go?” Well. He supposed that was an answer. A better one than he’d given, and now he worried he hadn’t been nearly sincere enough with his. Somehow it felt like one of those things that was bound to come up again--that would require quite a bit of convincing before she believed him anyway--so there was always next time. One of these days he’d have the words. Maybe. He turned his head slightly toward her hand to press a quick kiss into her palm. “I’ll take your word for it.” “Oh, you know. Terribly boring. Eddie stopped by for a bit though, that was a nice reprieve. Got me through the rest of the night.” He shrugged. “I assume you’re referring to the drink and not my actual thorny heart,” he added cheekily, “but uh… I think I’ll leave it on the menu for a while.” Was that the definition? Probably. Jolin had done it on occasion because when people underestimated the pretty thing on a man’s arm it made it easier to spy on whoever she please. Which made her wonder if Julius would be a good spy, “You’re very opinionated. And expressive. Arm candy sits there and looks handsome,” Briar was turned away from him so he couldn’t see the challenging eyebrow she raised at that but she made sure he heard it in her voice. The prat that he was would definitely catch it, “At least I have a convenient way to get away from them?” It was a weak defense at best, but it was hard to change, “Not all of mine leave a trail of grudges and rage.” Some of them were subtle, thank you very much. As she got settled in this new position she paused, glancing up at his phone with interest, zooming in to get the full details, “Is this for a job?” Because she liked them, and would be a little less eager to steal from an artist she supported on a normal basis, but if he had some sort of scheme to pull at a not-quite black tie event, it could be fun. Oh, maybe the could go as Thorn and Thorn, esquire. There was something that crossed his eyes for a moment that made her think the compliment had actually hit home, and that pleased her. Maeve and the others could sweet talk someone out of purse and secrets all night, but actually making someone she gave a damn feel something with sincerity? A bit more challenging. Ah, Eddie. Those two could be trouble together, “So out of you two layabouts in suits, who is the bad influence? Because I’m having trouble deciding.” A poke, for good measure, to his middle, but only for a moment because she grabbed his hand and placed it back in her hair, having no shame whatsoever in the gesture. “Good decision. I might have to drop in for another. You might make a decent businessman yet.” A wink to show she was obviously teasing, one of her hands sneaking back under his shirt again to trace the outline of his ribcage “Are you suggesting I’m not looking handsome while also being expressive and opinionated?” Because if she was, she was obviously wrong. As for spying, it was literally what he did all the time, if your definition of spying was listening when no one else thought you were and gathering information. There was a reason he was better than the FoH manager at scheduling. His employees had seriously dramatic social lives. “An enemy is still an enemy.” He didn’t have a lot of those, but it wasn’t as if he was swimming in friendships either. Mostly he was doing well if people were generally ambivalent, especially when his style had always been to peace out of places after a few years. A job. Titania, what? “No, not a job, Briar. Why would I ask you to go on a job right after you get back from a job?” Weirdo. “It’s just a concert. I want to go, I’d rather not go alone. Do you want to come with?” Did that really need to be spelled out? Sure they’d just had a conversation about not assuming things, but, this seemed pretty cut and dry. Julius snorted, rolling his eyes at her question. “I mean, I’m older, but.” It was really a tough call. Eddie had definitely done the gangster, criminal thing a bit longer and better, but he also owned an establishment geared towards kids and spotty teens, and he came to Summerveiw with some very specific settling down plans, which tipped the scale more in Julius’s favor probably. It was hard to say though. “Careful, you start dropping in all the time my employees might start to suspect you actually like me,” he teased back, resuming the movement of his hands in her hair, short nails dragging gently over her scalp. |